


A Trip Down Memory Lane

by Jamie_Douglas



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 03:02:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11958354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jamie_Douglas/pseuds/Jamie_Douglas
Summary: As a young man, Alfred visits a brothel in Northern Ireland.





	A Trip Down Memory Lane

He ran a hand brusquely through his short, greying hair and turned away from the mirror. It would have to do. He pulled on his grey overcoat, threw a red scarf around his neck, grabbed his keys, and went out the door, closing it softly behind him. As he turned the key in the lock, he briefly wondered if he should leave a note for Bruce, but what would he say? Gone out for milk, at 2 am? The boy would be fast asleep anyway, and he wasn’t really a boy anymore. Alfred got into his Audi and drove into town, nervously drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. It had been a while—too long. Still, he wasn’t proud of himself. When he parked behind the building, he turned the engine off and sat for a minute, considering. He tilted the rear view mirror to look at his reflection one more time and saw a cold, hardened face looking back at him. He got out of the car, gently shut the door, and engaged the locks. He stuffed the keys into his coat pocket as he walked to the back entrance. A doorman eyed him through a small window in the top of the door. As Alfred got closer, the man backed away, giving him room to enter. 

As soon as he opened the door, a wall of noise assaulted Alfred’s ears. It was a loud, steady electronic bass beat, unrelenting and insistent. He was standing in a narrow hallway with nothing but a high counter to one side, behind which sat a woman with long, bleached blonde hair and too much makeup, wearing a black silk robe unbelted over a short red slip. Down the hallway, he could see three doors, one on each side and one at the end. The music seemed to be coming from some speakers mounted in the ceiling. 

“Can I help you?” the blonde woman shouted over the music.

Alfred looked behind him at the man standing by the front door. The man was about two inches taller than him, and quite a bit wider. He nodded once in the direction of the blonde. Alfred turned back to her and cleared his throat. “Yes, I’d like… That is, I…” 

The woman smiled. “Would you like some company?”

Gratefully, he nodded. “Yes. Some…company. Please.” 

“Four hundred for an hour.” She held out her hand. “Cash or credit.” 

He didn’t know if that was too expensive or too cheap. Too cheap, he decided. He patted his jacket pocket. Yes, the condoms were in there, thank God. He pulled out his wallet and handed the woman his credit card, hoping the machine they used wasn’t fitted with one of those devices that copied your information. This place was beneath him, but he was desperate. Then again, it was pretty swanky compared to some of the places he’d been when he was younger. 

“Sheila’s ready for you.” She gestured to the first door on the left. 

He pocketed his card again and took the short trip down the hall. As his hand was on the knob, he thought about changing his mind, but the door opened from within and a beautiful raven-haired woman stood there, dressed in black stockings, garters, green G-string, and green bra. Her breasts were spilling out of the bra. Her hips were full and her legs, muscular. His tongue came out to lick his bottom lip, then retreated again. She stared at him with large emerald eyes and smiled. “Alfie, is that really you?”

She pulled him inside by the arm and closed the door, leaning her back against it as he entered the room. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again!” She had a faint Irish accent. 

Alfred’s head was swimming. He sat uneasily on the bed. “Do I know you?” He’d brought his pistol—it was in its holster under his jacket. He was surprised that the doorman hadn’t patted him down. 

“You really don’t remember me?” she pouted, red lips puckering. He transferred his eyes to her face and studied her. She stepped closer to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. On close examination, he could see fine lines in the corners of her eyes and mouth, and on her forehead and neck. The hair was probably dyed. She could be anywhere from thirty to forty-five. “Belfast? 1991?” 

Alfred was stunned. A woman he’d known twenty-five years ago in Ireland was now in Gotham City, and he was about to pay her for sex? No, he’d already paid. “Sure, where did we meet again?” 

Sheila threw her gorgeous head of thick, wavy hair back and laughed. “Same kind of place, different time. Actually, it wasn’t nearly as nice as this.” She looked around her at the sparse, shabby bedclothes as though they were in a posh room at a fancy hotel. “Let’s see if I can jog your memory.” She kneeled on the bed, straddling his lap, picked up his right hand, and laid it on her right breast. He leaned forward to kiss her, but she put a hand up, stopping him. 

A flash of a partially buried memory leapt into his mind, and he saw, quite clearly, a twenty-year-old girl with long, dark hair and green eyes staring at him, one thin, pale hand covering his mouth. 

*****************

“I don’t kiss,” she told him. “You don’t get to do that.” 

He nodded to show her that he understood. His only experience with a hooker before this had been in an alley outside a pub near the SAS training centre in Herefordshire. In a drunken stupor, he’d sloppily kissed her, groped her, and found her hand in his pocket. She’d come out with his wallet, cooing, “I’ll give you the best blow job of your life for whatever’s in this.” He’d quickly agreed, knowing there wasn’t much there. Afterwards, she hadn’t seemed too disappointed. 

This was different. This girl was a professional, he supposed. The brothel only had three rooms: one large sitting room overstuffed with three big but ripped sofas and a dirty sheepskin rug in front of the fire, a tiny water closet with a wash basin and toilet, and a small bedroom at the back. They were in the front room, on one of the sofas. There were two other couples in the same room, one on another sofa and one on the rug by the fireplace. Whenever the girl wasn’t watching him, he stole glances at them. Both of the men were soldiers like him, lads in his own regiment. The Glaswegian, Davey, was on the rug with a redhead, kneeling behind her. Alfred could see more of Davey’s ass than anything else, so he looked away. Kenny was on the far sofa, seated, with a buxom blonde on his lap. She was facing away from Kenny, and Alfred could see her glorious, pink-tipped mounds bouncing as she moved up and down on Kenny’s cock. He had one of his hands on her pussy, fingering her clit as they fucked. She was moaning and shouting things like “Yes! Fuck me, big boy!” 

Now Alfred’s own cock was rock hard. The blonde fucking Kenny was looking across the room at him and smiling. He looked down and started fiddling with his belt. 

“Yes,” his girl said. Her accent was thick. “Take it off. Take off those pants, soldier.” She reached down and helped him, pulling the long belt out slowly and tossing it onto the floor. Her hand went for the button next. 

“Can’t we use the bedroom?” Alfred whispered. He was a grown man, in his twenties, and he’d seen and done more than most men would in a lifetime, but he had the voice of a teenager still. 

The brunette laughed. “It’s occupied. You don’t want to go in there, believe me! Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.” She pulled her ivory bra-slip off over her head, revealing two small and perfectly formed breasts, a slightly rounded stomach, smooth white thighs, and a thick patch of dark hair between them. She nodded towards his crotch. “Go on, get them off.” 

Alfred obeyed, removing his khakis, folding them neatly, and setting them on the floor. She clucked her tongue in disapproval. “Those too!” He stood up and peeled off his undershorts, hoping that Kenny and Davey weren’t looking. 

“Yeah, Alfie! Get in there!” Kenny shouted from across the room. 

Alfred decided to ignore him, but he grabbed an old quilted throw blanket from the back of the sofa and tossed it over himself as he sat down again. His pint of beer was on the floor. He picked it up and took a long drink, then set it back down. The girl was looking at him expectantly. He snuggled up beside her under the blanket and moved his hand up to fondle a breast. At the same time, her hand found his erection and began to stroke it. Her eyes were wide and green and he desperately wanted to kiss her. “What’s your name?” he breathed. 

“You can call me Sheila.” Then her head was under the blanket and her hot, soft mouth was on him. He sucked in his breath as she sucked him. The blanket moved with each thrust of her head, but all he could see was her lower half—long, lean legs and a pair of black high-heeled shoes—sitting on the cushion beside him. Alfred was greatly enjoying himself when, to his horror, Kenny pushed the blonde off of his lap and walked towards them. 

“Fuck off, Ken.” 

“No need to be greedy, Alfie! Let’s share!” Kenny ran a hand up Sheila’s leg. If she knew it was him doing it, she didn’t let on. Her lips were tight around Alfred’s cock. Kenny flipped the blanket off and grinned. 

“Seriously, Kenny, fuck off. Come on.” Alfred’s voice was angry but his eyes were pleading. Kenny was smaller than him but he had a reputation for being bat-shit crazy. He’d once sliced a man’s throat open with a broken bottle. And Kenny had had a lot to drink already tonight. Alfred knew not to mess with him—not over this. Sheila could hear their conversation, of course, but she didn’t come up for air, just kept at it. 

Kenny grabbed both her calves and pulled her legs off the sofa until she kneeled in front of Alfred, between his thin legs that were lightly covered in soft, fair hairs. Then he turned to the blonde. “Have you got another johnny?” 

“Sure, big boy,” she giggled, pulling open the drawer of a small side table. She pulled out two condoms, handing one to Kenny and one to Alfred. 

“Ta,” Alfred told her. 

Kenny pushed Sheila’s legs apart with one knee, took his cock in his hand, and started to push against her. 

“Wait!” She twisted away from him. 

Alfred shot Kenny another angry look. “Look, just leave her alone, all right? You’ve got your own bird!” 

“But I want this one, too.” 

Alfred started to rise, feeling a deep, red rage spread throughout his body. Sheila put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him gently down. “No, it’s okay. I want to.” She turned to Kenny. “As long as you’re willing to pay for it.” 

“Yeah, of course, sweetheart! I wouldn’t dream of cheating you. Here.” He reached between her legs and touched her, as Alfred balled his fingers up into fists on the cushion beside him. Once Kenny was inside Sheila, fucking her from behind, she lowered her head to Alfred’s crotch again. It wasn’t very pleasant anymore though, with her head being jerked back and forth from the force of Kenny’s thrusts. He shook his head and pushed her off gently, sighing heavily. 

The blonde moved in. “Hey, soldier, I’m getting lonely. How about you come over here?” Alfred was standing now and she took in the slim hips and broad shoulders under the army-green shirt he was still wearing. His erection had not faded, despite Kenny’s interference. With a last look at Sheila, he took the blonde’s outstretched hand and followed her to the other sofa. She lay down for him, on her back, legs open invitingly. He rested one knee on the cushion as he rolled the condom on, then climbed on top of her. As he entered the blonde, he thought only of Sheila. He could hear her moans and cries in his ears, as the blonde started to talk. He shut her out, concentrating on Sheila’s voice. Were they sounds of pleasure or pain? He really couldn’t tell. The blonde grabbed his ass with both hands and moved her hips faster and faster. Alfred lowered his head to her breasts and quickened his pace. 

He was on his way to a swift climax when he heard a sharp slap of skin against skin, over his shoulder. Still on top of the blonde, he turned his head. Kenny was standing over Sheila’s crouched, naked form. She was holding a hand to her left cheek. Now Kenny grabbed her arm tightly and pulled her up. “No!” she shouted, and he slapped her again. 

Alfred sprung off the sofa and sprinted to the other side of the room, spun Kenny around by the shoulders, and decked him. The punch landed straight in the middle of his face, on the nose, and knocked him over backwards. Sheila shrieked, moving quickly out of the way. 

“You fuckin’ prick! You shouldna done that!” Kenny rubbed his nose as he steadied himself. 

Alfred turned to Sheila. “You all right?” She nodded as he looked her over. There was a red mark on her cheek and she’d probably have a bruise on her wrist, but he couldn’t see any other damage. Who knew what he’d done to her, though, before the first slap. “What happened? What did he do?” 

Just then, Davey came over. Sheila and the blonde disappeared. “What the fuck, Alfie? Why’d you hit Kenny? You shouldn’t have done that!” Davey told him.

Kenny was standing again now, raising his fists in front of him. He looked around the room and his eyes lit on a glass vase on an end table. 

Alfred saw the look. “Kenny, don’t--” But he was too late. Kenny picked up the vase, smashed it against the table, and went for Alfred with the broken and jagged bottom. The man was completely naked except for the condom now sliding off his diminishing cock, but all Alfred could see was the hand holding the weapon. Kenny lunged toward him, slashing the glass across Alfred’s chest. It connected shallowly, ripping his shirt open and forming a red scratch across his skin. Alfred grabbed the wrist that was holding the weapon and tried to shake the glass loose, but his friend held on. A stinging pain lashed across his cheek as Alfred moved forward, pushing Kenny back. Davey grabbed Kenny’s other wrist and the two men pinned him against the wall just as a huge, bearded Irishman stumbled out of the back bedroom. 

“Get ‘im the fuck outta here before I take care of ‘im meself!” Beardy roared. 

Davey spoke calmly. “Ken, you need to relax. Let’s just talk about this.” 

Alfred spoke up. “Yeah, Ken, let’s talk about it. Let’s talk about why you like to hit little girls.” 

Davey raised an eyebrow and Alfred nodded. 

“She wouldn’t let me kiss her!” Kenny spluttered. “I mean, she’s a whore, for God’s sake, and I can’t kiss her? Who the fuck does she think she is?” He sounded angry but his body had gone limp under the other soldiers’ grips. 

“That’s a shitty fuckin’ reason, Ken.” Davey shook his head, disappointed in his friend. “You’re gonna leave Alfie alone now, and you’re gonna go apologize to that lassie, right?” 

Davey hung his head. 

“What was that? I didn’t hear you!” 

“Yeah, fine.” Kenny held a hand out for Alfred to shake. “Sorry I tried to kill you, mate.” 

Alfred let Kenny go but wouldn’t take his hand. Instead, he grabbed his shorts and pants from the floor and started to pull them on. Sheila came out of the back room and ran over to him. She reached up and touched a finger to the gash on his cheek. Blood was starting to drip from it. She wiped it away, then planted her moist lips onto his, kissing him deeply. 

*****************  
“Sheila…” Alfred whispered hoarsely. Her hands, a bit more wrinkled now but still soft and pale, were on his belt buckle. 

Her lips brushed his right ear. “You remember me now?” He nodded, and she leaned into him. “I still don’t kiss…no one but you.” Then her lips were on his and her tongue was in his mouth and he was twenty-five again, tasting what it felt like to be the knight in shining armour.


End file.
